


Zero to Quicksilver

by witchymarvelspacecase



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 06:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13828311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchymarvelspacecase/pseuds/witchymarvelspacecase
Summary: Reader is a driver/chauffeur… during the day at least. The Avengers are visiting the area she calls home and reader is hired as their escort. What could happen when they find themselves in the back seat of her car?





	Zero to Quicksilver

“‘Take the job’ he said. ‘It’ll be  _ easy _ ’ he said,” you grumbled under your breath as you see your clients approaching. “Last time I believe Ches when he says something’s easy. ‘Just some rich guy’  _ my fucking ass _ .” Ches had obviously been less than vigilant when assigning you your latest day-job. That lapse in awareness, had led to your latest chauffeur gig involving four of the Avengers. 

Most visibly, you saw Tony Stark working his way through the crowd of people that had formed as the quartet exited the building. He was followed by James Rhodes, Natasha Romanov, and a man with silver hair. You hadn’t heard much about Pietro Maximoff, being that he’d been pretty much dead until just recently. Since his resurrection, he hadn’t been much for the spotlight it seemed, but being that he was a part of the group you were driving, the team must have been planning to change that. 

The group had been in town for some kind of conference, answering questions that mostly seemed to center around the Accords fiasco. If the yelling that you could hear from outside was any indication, it hadn’t been all candy and cookies in there; people were still bitter, people still blamed the Avengers for everything from New York to their more recent squabble in a German airport. Most of the anger seemed to be shouldered by Tony Stark, but Pietro had faced some heat as well. And if his current countenance was anything to go by, he was ruffled. 

“I don’t see what good this did. We just sat there for an hour and let people yell at us,” Pietro grumbled just loud enough that you could hear. You kept your position by the car as the heroes approached, quietly opening the door for the first person to arrive.

“Y/N?” Tony asked.

“Yes, sir,” you nodded as Rhodes and Pietro slid into the back seat of the luxury sedan, “I’m supposed to shuttle you to the airstrip from here unless you have any other requests.”

“Nope, we’re heading back to civilization,” Tony answered, a smirk on his face as he slid into the back seat as well before you shut the door. Your city was hardly rural, but then again, pretty much anywhere looked less urban when compared to New York City. Natasha had rounded the car and let herself into the passenger seat while you talked to Tony, so you slid into the driver’s, started the car, and pulled away.

…

The private airstrip was only 30 minutes away, but not even 10 minutes into the drive, you noticed Natasha checking your mirrors. You’d noticed the SUV at your back, as well it’d been following you closely for at least the last few minutes. And as far as you knew, Ches hadn’t had a tail car assigned to you.

“I’m gonna assume that we aren’t being followed by anyone  _ friendly, _ right?” you asked calmly, switching lanes to move off the main road.

“That would be accurate,” Natasha said as she checked her phone before drawing a handgun.

An argument arose then, mostly involving Stark and Rhodes. They each wanted to do something, but they couldn’t agree on what. As they talked, you kept your eye on the SUV; it was getting closer even as you took odd side-streets and doubled back. The tail made their move just as Pietro spoke.

“Forget this. Let me out; I’ll take care of it.”

You caught Natasha’s eye then. You hit the child-locks; keeping the back doors from opening from the inside, and shot a significant look to Natasha’s seatbelt, signaling her to hold on. She nodded, and you hit the gas pedal, pulling sharply away from the SUV.

“ _ What the fuck? _ ” Rhodes yelled as he was forced back into his seat, and then forward as you pulled up on the handbrake and cut the wheel, drifting the car into a tight turn and down an alley.

“Just hold on,” you said. You punched the gas pedal again, zooming towards the other end of the alley. Your car shot out the other end just before another SUV could cage you in. 

“Holy  _ shit _ !” That time it was Tony who yelled as he tried to push himself away from the oncoming car. Pietro, meanwhile, was sitting wide-eyed and watching the world flash by with a small smile on his face.

“What’re you doing?” Natasha’s voice was even, her tone was calm, but she was looking out the rear window, monitoring the now two SUVs as they approached.

“Ditching the tail,” you replied, trying to match her tone as you dipped in and out of traffic, sometimes jumping into the oncoming lanes, “don’t think you guys want to have a fight right now, especially not in the middle of a city.” 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Tony asked, a slight panic still in his voice, but he’d settled into his seat.

“I got this. If there’s one thing I can do, its drive.” You shot him a smile in the rearview as you downshifted and hit the gas.

You knew the city well. You’d grown up there, more importantly, you grew up in the racing community there. You’d been tuning engines with your dad before you could reach the pedals, and you’d driven a manual transmission at 12.

You’d driven these streets a thousand times over, both at legal speeds and  _ not _ so legal speeds. Getting and staying ahead of other drivers?  _ Please _ . You didn’t lose often. But then again, most of your competitors didn’t  _ shoot _ at you. Not to say it hadn’t happened, cause it  _ had _ , but it was a wrinkle you weren’t used to.

“ _ Of course  _ they have guns,” you grumbled, twisting the wheel sharply and swerving through traffic.

Most of the bullets hit the body of the car, but at least one made it into the cabin, shattering the back window.

“ _ Motherfucker _ !” Pietro yelled. A bullet had caught in his shoulder.

Natasha, ever prepared, was returning fire through the now broken back window. 

“Any ideas guys? I don’t have unlimited ammunition here.” Stark and Rhodes did not speak up, looking at you instead. Pietro was looking at his arm, but caught your gaze in the rearview.

“Once I lose these idiots, I have a safe house you all can use,” you supplied as you sped into an intersection. You yanked on the handbrake and turned the wheel, guiding the car through a controlled drift that turned into a 180, effectively leaving the less agile SUVs in the dust.

…

A few minutes later, once you were sure you’d actually lost your pursuers, you pulled into an underground parking structure.

“ _ This _ is a safehouse?” Pietro asked as you parked and climbed out of the now battered sedan.

“No, we’re just switching cars. Can’t expect to stay hidden when we’re riding around in a car riddled with bullet holes and missing a back window. Oh, and dump your phones; they could have been following us that way.” 

Although you couldn’t imagine all five of you being terribly comfortable in your small hatchback, you felt safe knowing you had  _ your _ car. You’d built the engine yourself, tuned the suspension, and added nitros. You left the exterior almost entirely alone though, to keep it as low profile as possible.

“Please tell me it’s not a long drive,” Pietro whined, holding his arm tight to his chest to keep his shoulder stabilized. The others had done what they could for the speedster, but he’d need the extensive first aid kit you kept at home.

“Not long,” you assured. 

And true to your word, not 15 minutes later, you were pulling into the garage of the small farmhouse you called home. 

You led the Avengers into your kitchen and gave them the quick version of a tour, instructing them as to where the bedrooms and bathrooms were as you pulled the first aid kit from the pantry and had Pietro sit at your kitchen table. 

“Okay, so I’m guessing ‘chauffeur’ isn’t the  _ only _ title you’ve got,” Tony said as he leaned against the doorway leading into the kitchen. He watched as you gently maneuvered the bullet out of Pietro’s shoulder, and started to clean the wound.

“What ever gave you  _ that _ idea,” you sassed, more than a hint of sarcasm lacing your voice. Pietro winced and unconsciously gripped your arm as you dabbed antiseptic on his shoulder. With your free hand, you grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze back. “I’m just your average driver.”

“ _ Average _ ? Of what variety?” Pietro asked. You couldn’t see his face, but he was smiling as you dropped his hand to bandage his shoulder.

“The street racing variety.”

…

“Let me get this straight,” Steve Rogers said, his voice coming from the speakerphone in the middle of the table, “you’re calling me from an unlisted number, from a house out of town, because you were driven there by the chauffeur that Happy hired, who is  _ not _ a chauffeur, after a car chase, that  _ made the news _ by the way, involving two SUVs and automatic weapons?”

“Sounds about right,” Natasha answered, her elbows on the table, her head resting in her hand; Tony and Rhodes sat around the table as well. Pietro was in one of your spare bedrooms, hopefully resting.

“Who is this kid?” Steve asked, he sounded exasperated, “you didn’t have Happy check her out first?”

“Technically, Mr. Stark’s guy hired my ‘friend’s’ company, who contracts jobs out to me. I’m sure his company came up squeaky clean,” you answered; Ches wouldn’t have stood for anything less.

“She speaks,” came a new voice from the speaker phone. You smirked; you loved a good snark competition.

“Multiple languages actually. Mostly sarcasm. Any other questions?”

“Oh more by the second.”

“Okay, thank you, Sam. Back on topic,” Steve interrupted. 

“Killjoy,” you muttered. “I’m gonna go check on Pietro, so y’all can talk.”

The others nodded, Tony shot you a smile as you grabbed your strongest painkillers and a bottle of water before leaving the kitchen.

…

PIetro was pacing the room. “That’s not exactly resting,” you commented, cocking an eyebrow at him as he smirked.

“Not good at sitting still. Plus, this hurts like a bitch.” You nodded in understanding. 

“Don’t know if these will help, but they’re the strongest I’ve got,” you said holding out the painkillers.

“Maybe, maybe not. Some stuff my body processes too fast,” Pietro grumbled. It probably wasn’t  the first time he’d had this issue.

“Well, if they do work, they’ll probably make you drowsy as fuck. You may wanna sit down at least.” Pietro scoffed lightly, but did as you suggested. After he sat himself on the edge of the bed, you handed him the pills, and then the water bottle after he’d popped the pills into his mouth.

“So, if these are supposed to make me tired, wanna tell me a bedtime story then?” Pietro asked in a cheeky voice, a smile playing on his mouth.

You tilted your head and smiled back. “I don’t know too many of those, didn’t hear ‘em much as a kid, but I guess I can try.”

“Tell me about  _ you _ then,” he smiled bigger, like he was actually curious.

“Not much to tell,” you shrugged.

“I beg to differ.”

“Okay, um… What do you want to know?” As far as you were concerned, there wasn’t much about you that could possibly interest an Avenger.

“Where’d you learn to drive like that?”

“My dad. He was a racer. My brother too.”

“Was?” Pietro asked, his eyes softening.

“Yeah. Dad died a few years ago.”

“And your brother?”

You laughed dryly, “well he’s a fuck-up of epic proportions. He was a racer, but that wasn’t enough for him. He got in with a shitty crew and he wound up breaking more than a few laws. He got caught, and he’s in prison upstate now.” Pietro’s eyes widened, he and sister were so close, it didn’t make sense to him how you and your brother weren’t the same.

“You sound like you didn’t get along,” he hedged.

“That, is the understatement of the century.” When Pietro didn’t say anything, just looked at you as if expecting you to elaborate, you sighed and continued. “Cliffnotes version? He got in trouble, and his first instinct was to come home, expecting dad to fix it. Well dad wasn’t home, I was, he brought the trouble to the front door, and escaped out the back, leaving me to take the damage instead.”

“What damage?” You closed your eyes and sighed. Why was he asking you so many questions? Why did he look so much like he cared. Why were you  _ answering him? _ You had no clue, but you did.

“Another crew was after him. He broke into their warehouse. He ran, so the found me instead. They, uh… they beat the shit out of me is what they did. I’m lucky dad came home and found me. I woke up in the hospital.” You kept your eyes averted, not wanting to see the pity on Pietro’s face. Pietro though, wasn’t having it, he wanted to offer comfort, so he pushed himself up from the bed. Only to almost collapse. Apparently the painkillers  _ were _ effective.

You caught him as he stumbled and helped him back to the bed. “Maybe you oughta lay down. Looks like the pills are working.” You gave him a little smile.

Pietro allowed you to help him lay back, but as you went to move away, he caught your hand. “Thank you înger. I am sorry you have been hurt.” His words were a little slurred, but you understood most of what he said. When you asked for clarification though, you noticed that Pietro had fallen asleep.


End file.
